Honest
by amberpire
Summary: And Santana knows this will never go away. ;Santana/Brittany;


_Honest_

_;;_

The first thing Santana is aware of when her consciousness finally emerges from the murky depths of the anesthesia is the overwhelming deep throb of pain that she's sure is comparable with getting struck by a bat. Or a car. It ripples through her chest as far down as her bellybutton, a wake of utter agony that slams against the shoreline of her collarbones with every pump of her pulse. Something choked and strangled must come out of her throat because the next thing she can sense is a soft, hot palm pressing against her forehead and an unintelligible voice murmuring near her ear in a tone that she can detect as comfortable and familiar. Moments later, a cold trickling races along the roads of her veins and the pain is snuffed out, the lingering echoes fading with her heartbeat. Muscles she didn't know had strung themselves as tight as bow strings release, and once again Santana is yanked into a black, black sleep.

It is several hours later when she resurfaces. The pain is there again, ebbing along the edges of her ribs. Santana keeps her eyes closed and takes a mental assessment of her body. The surgery must have been a success because there is a certain lightness to her torso that she hasn't felt in a few years. The doctors had warned her ahead of time that there would be a degree of soreness to deal with for a couple of weeks following the procedure and she figured, hey, she spent her entire high school career working under Sue Sylvester as a Cheerio, so being sore was a sensation very familiar to her. Unfortunately, this was nothing she had experienced before. It was deep and pumping and threatening to overwhelm her again should she move even in the slightest.

Keeping her eyes closed - as if by remaining blind, this would somehow keep the pain at bay - Santana lifts her hand slowly, thin fingers slowly uncurling. A single beat of her heart resounds in her ears by the time her hand is filled. Her fingers reflexively close around skin she has felt every inch of, has memorized long ago. A tired smile forms on her face as heavy eyelids finally retract to gift herself with a sight so beautiful, it easily outshines the discomfort in her chest.

Brittany swims through the fog of Santana's bleary vision like some mythical sea creature. The back of Santana's hand is pressed against Brittany's mouth with her eyes locked like a dead bolt on the bedridden girl. The blue depths are dotted in the center like the bottoms of exclamation points, puncturing her thoughts because Santana knows that the majority of them are exclaimed.

"Hey," Brittany whispers against Santana's hand, her breath warm. She uses her free hand to hook under the chair she's spent the past four hours sitting on and dragging it forward, the four legs screeching against the floor. "How are you feeling?"

Santana opens her mouth only for a dry screech to come out. She doesn't dare cough, settling on swallowing as slowly and carefully as she can before attempting to speak. "Like I jumped from a canyon."

"Oh, Crayola are my favorite."

Another smile tweaks at Santana's lips. If she wasn't so terrified of moving, she probably would have pushed herself up on her elbows and placed her forehead against Britt's, biting back giggles only the blonde can manifest from stern, stubborn Santana, and correcting her in the tame, loving way she always has. As it is, Santana can only manage a slow shake of her head and a tone that means she would be chuckling if she could manage it. "Those are crayons, B. Canyons are giant holes in the ground."

Brittany absorbs the new knowledge as if it is a pearl of wisdom. "_Oh_," she breathes, and Santana is certain that this information clears up a lot of things for Brittany.

Santana has been a witness to Brittany being labeled as stupid, but she has never seen her that way. Instead of the average machine that operates inside the normal, bland human beings that populate the planet, which repeats the same motions and grinds out the same generic, over done strips of thought, Brittany has a loud, musical contraption that produces these glittery, whimsical bubbles of insight. Most think she's stupid, but Santana knows the difference between stupidity and a new kind of intelligent. Brittany is different, not deficient, and sometimes Santana is sure she is the only one who appreciates that.

Attempting to readjust herself on the white sheets of the hospital bed, a sharp knife of pain wedges itself beneath her sternum. A yelp climbs from Santana's throat, eyes crushing shut, squeezing Brittany's hand until her knuckles bleach her dark skin white. "_Mierda_."

Brittany calls for a nurse. A small, elderly woman wearing obnoxiously green crocs waddles into the room. Had Santana been in brighter spirits, she would have unleashed a plethora of insults on the footwear alone, not to mention the Frank-N-Furter make-up smeared across her face. But the woman wields morphine and Santana is so desperate for it that she even manages to crush out a 'thank you' as the medication eats the pain away.

Alone once more, Brittany resumes her post. She scoops Santana's hand into her own and flattens her palm, giving her a level plane to press light kisses to.

"Have you been here this whole time?" Santana's fingers curl to push Brittany's chin up.

The blonde smiles incredulously, as if Santana had asked an obvious question. "Of course I did. I got up once to ask if they could get me into contact with Dr. Pepper. They sent me to a vending machine, but he never showed." She shrugs and gives a soft sigh. "Must be busy."

Santana is certain there is a being beyond this world that had woven Brittany into her life because there is literally no one else on this disgusting planet that could conjure up a smile so genuine and bright from her. "Must be."

"Your parents should be here soon. Momma Lopez made me promise I would text her as soon as you woke up." Brittany leans closer, pressing Santana's hand to her cheek and grinning. "But I wanted just a few minutes with you all to myself."

Santana's thumb swipes along the curve below Brittany's eye. The ache in her chest has nothing to do with the surgery. Twinges collect at the corner of her lips, tugging them into a soft, slight frown. "I'm going to look different," she says, her free hand motioning over her chest with a small wave. "It's going to be a little scarred, even ..." Santana cringes slightly, her voice dropping to a whispery growl. "_Saggy_."

Brittany laughs. The sound is a chirp, a birdcall that unlocks cages across the world. Her lips brush along Santana's hand, the words seeping into Santana's skin. "Baby," she starts, the circular pieces of sky that are her irises swiveling to meet her girlfriend's. "You're always beautiful. Forever."

If anyone asked her, she would completely blame the amount of morphine in her system for the surge of emotion that decides to leak from her eyes. Blinking hard, she shakes her head and releases a heavy breath. "I love you, Britt."

Brittany doesn't miss a single beat. "I love you, too."

/

"Why?" Quinn digs the nail file beneath her finger, lips set in a stern line. She isn't even looking up from her perch on Santana and Brittany's loveseat but it really isn't necessary. Britt and Rachel are in the kitchen fixing Santana some food - Brittany has been strict in her duties as a house nurse, making sure Santana does nothing without her assistance - for the past three days. Rachel is making sure Brittany doesn't have any accidents since a room equipped with hot surfaces and sharp objects isn't the safest environment for Brittany.

Santana, her head propped up on a mountains of pillows with the remote in her hand, flicks through the channels on her TV. She knows what Quinn is asking but plays dumb for the sake of not having to talk about things that involve feelings. Those kinds of conversations are reserved for Brittany. "Why what?"

Quinn's eyes flick up in the way that is unique to her and serial killers. She says nothing, simply waiting, until Santana visibly squirms against the couch.

Santana runs a careful hand over her shirt - beneath that, bandages, and beneath that, her smaller breasts. She gives a slow sigh that rushes through her nose. "I felt like I was lying, I guess," she mumbles, trying to say the words in a bored tone, but it only comes off as tired. A lot of her existence up until now had been exhausting. Pretending, pretending, pretending - she honestly didn't understand how most actors didn't collapse from the pressure.

Santana just wanted to _relax_.

"You thought your boobs were _lying_?"

Santana lifts a hand with the intention of using it to emphasize something she's going to say, but it drops against the top of her head uselessly. Brittany understood this without much explanation because that's just how Britt is - she understands Santana without having to ask questions. They've been living together for so long that Santana has forgotten that not everyone knows her on such an intimate level.

"Look," Santana says, a wince startling her dark brows across her forehead. This has Quinn on the edge of her seat, poised to rush to Santana's side, but when the other girl relaxes with another sigh, Quinn resettles. "I'm all for girls wanting their boobs bigger. Whatever, it's their call." The hand on her head finally raises, gesturing to herself. "I just couldn't remember why I had gotten them in the first place and I want -" Santana falters. Her words always come out scrambled and chopped when it's with anyone but Brittany. Her hand falls to the side. "I just want to be honest."

"I think it's wonderful!"

The voice grinds against Santana's eardrums like sandpaper. If it weren't for Quinn, Santana would have rather Rachel hadn't come at all. She watches as the girl, dressed like an eighty-year-old librarian in a gray skirt stiffer than a dead body and some turtle-neck mess that Santana is sure she's seen Brittany's grandma wear at some point, sits beside the blonde on the loveseat, her hand planting itself firmly on one of Quinn's. Speaking of, she's glaring hard at Santana, as if daring her to say a single syllable, which causes Santana's unhinged jaw to lock again.

Santana would never admit to being afraid of Quinn, but she'd be lying if she said her former teammate wasn't slightly dangerous.

"Being true to one's appearance is crucial in becoming truly happy." Rachel's smile is enough watts to light up a small town. "You're very brave, Santana."

The Latina shimmies further down into the couch. Brittany appears, beaming at Santana as she places a tray with a steaming bowl of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich cut into triangles on the coffee table. Moving to the far end of the couch, she lifts Santana's legs and settles them in her lap. She rubs the cold bottoms of Santana's feet with her hands, smiling first at Rachel and then at Santana. "She's right. You're the bravest girl I know." Her nose scrunches which makes Santana's heart pitter against her ribs like it does every time. "Braver than that one little toaster."

Santana's glowering expression begins to slowly leak with light. "Thank you."

There is a great time of the two staring at each other - so long that Rachel curls a fist in front of her lips and coughs to distract them. "Let's get this marathon started! What's this show called again?"

Santana smirks. "The Walking Dead."

Rachel frowns, turning her gaze to Quinn. "I thought we were watching some L Word or something?"

"The recovering gets priority," Quinn says, leaning back against the couch and mirroring Santana's smirk. Huffing, Rachel falls against Quinn's side.

The apartment fills with the sounds of slobbering zombies and Rachel's squeals of terror and Santana's heartbeat, a bass drum in her chest, rushing to where Brittany's fingers glide across her feet and shins.

And Santana knows this will never go away.

/

It's weeks later before Santana feels comfortable to sleep without the bandages supporting her. The scars aren't as visible as she had expected, but she still finds herself posing before the mirror, plucking at the tender skin, frowning at the way they dip lower than they did before. She hides in shawls and baggy shirts, keeps her arms locked over her torso, and tells Brittany that only things below the belt are allowed for the time being.

Waning off of her pain medication proves to be a bit of a trip from hell. Grinding her teeth through work, rehearsal, and social activities is beginning to wear down her poor molars. At different points in her recovery, she regrets going through the removal of her implants. Surely she could have simply dealt with her altered body? It's not like she was going to be giving it out to anyone but Brittany, anyway. She knows that Britt wouldn't care if Santana shaved her head and changed her name to Bernard - love kind of wipes away all of the superficial stuff.

Rubbing her fist into one of her eyes, Santana lays carefully on her back on the bed she shares with Brittany. After some begging on B's part, she had convinced Santana to purchase a bedspread with giant stars on it that glow in the dark. With the shades drawn and every light off, the stars gives off a light green glow. Santana traces one absently for a while, thinks about how she sleeps within the galaxy every night with Brittany's arm wound around her waist.

She drifts somewhere between sleep and consciousness for a few hours, waking up only when she hears a footfall on the other side of the room. Santana's body ripples too quickly, too hard, a hard breath muffling the sound of her pain as she whips to face the door - to see the telltale outline of Brittany frozen in place, hands slightly raised. Even in the now thicker darkness, she can easily make her out.

Santana melts against the mattress. "Hey," she whispers.

Brittany smiles. She takes two long steps to the bedside and lifts the covers, curling beneath the now bright stars. Leaning forward, she places one soft, gentle kiss to Santana's lips, as if the tenderness of her chest had encompassed her entire body. "Hey. Feeling okay?"

Santana tries to keep her spirits up, her chin high, but she shakes her head and closes her eyes against the hand that has rested lovingly against her cheek. It had been drilled into her so hard for so long that talking about feelings - which is all Brittany is, basically - meant weakness, and even though she knows better, it's hard for her sometimes to open those doors. Once her eyes reopen, though, and find the dark depths of Britt's, the words tumble out with ease. "It's stupid."

Concern carves a deep cleft between Brittany's eyebrows. "Nothing is stupid." Brittany says this with such affirmation in her tone, it makes Santana blink and assess her in silence.

Nothing is stupid. Brittany lives in a beautiful word where everything is important and everything matters.

Santana offers a smile. "Okay." She takes a deep breath, her sore chest giving a slow throb. "I just, I don't know, worry about what you're going to think of them when they're okay to touch and stuff."

Blonde strands of hair fly away as Brittany shakes her head, highlighted in green from the dozens of stars glowing from the blankets. "Tana, I didn't fall in love with your boobs." She lifts a finger and taps the very tip of Santana's nose with it. "I fell in love with _you_."

Maybe Santana will have to hear this a hundred times before she gets it, but she knows that Brittany will never grow tired of reminding her. Santana pushes herself closer, ignoring the pain that races across her ribs. Settling closer to Brittany, she raises a hand and runs her knuckles down the length of Britt's pale jawline. "How in the _world_ did I get you?"

Brittany laughs. Santana swears the stars - inside and outside of their room - glow brighter because of it.

"By being honest." Brittany leans forward and captures Santana's lips in a kiss strong enough to regenerate stars that have long since burned out.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _There is never enough fluff. Never._


End file.
